


All Things He Never Did Are Left Behind.

by sagelabyrinth



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Gay Male Character, Homophobia, Hurt No Comfort, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 14:07:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20547401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagelabyrinth/pseuds/sagelabyrinth
Summary: Richie deals with Eddie's death.





	All Things He Never Did Are Left Behind.

He sits in the quarry, trying desperately to wash the ick that _ thing _ had covered him in. His glasses were stained with blood. Eddie's blood. Richie couldn't decide if he wanted to clean them. Sure, it was gross, but it was all that was left. All that was left of the bright soul named Eddie. All that was left of him was this fucking blood. Richie's mind was racing, everything he ever wanted to say, all the things he wanted to _ do _ to Eddie... Were never going to be fulfilled. He sat and stared, his mind was elsewhere. But, he heard the other's talking about Eddie. Everything he'd say about them being in the quarry, "You're going to get herpes!" he heard Eddie say in his mind, and how he'd look out for them. The group to turned to Richie, asking him to recall his favorite thing about Eddie. Richie broke down, it was all too much. He sobbed. Bev wrapped her arms around him, Bill did too. Even Ben joined in. And even though Richie had all these people around to help him, he felt alone. No one really knew why Richie was crying. Of course, it was over Eddie, but they didn't know just how badly it affected him.

They all saw how Richie was. Screaming, crying, begging to go back to help Eddie. No one knew the whole reason why, though. Why he was pleading, pleading to his friends, pleading to God. No one knew the pure love Richie had for Eddie. Not the, "I love you as a friend" type of love. The real, true, endless love.

Richie had loved Eddie since they were kids, perhaps that's why he was so tough on him. The love he had, but couldn't comprehend. The love he was scared of. The love that made others hate him. He thought about the big 'maybe'. Maybe if he could. Maybe if he could go back, he'd tell him. He'd go right on up to Eddie and tell him. Tell him he loved him.  
Then he thought of the 'definitely'. Eddie would definitely hate him. He'd definitely call him a freak. A fairy. A fag. Just like Richie's father had. Just like Henry Bowers had.  
Still, he sat in the quarry and wondered. He prayed it was all a big nightmare, and he'd wake up, he'd wake up and do it over. But the reality set in that it was all real.

It took a few days for Richie to clear out of Derry. The local police had found Eddie's body in the old leper house, they ruled his death an accident. A result from the house collapsing. Richie knew the truth, however. He knew Eddie died, alone and in pain. While everyone else was off dealing with that _ fucking _ clown. For a while, Richie resented Mike. He blamed him for Eddie's death. Just think, if Mike hadn't called all of them back home to win a battle they'd already fought, Eddie would be home. Alive and well, with his fat-ass wife and lame-ass job. But, instead, he laid in a spruce coffin lined with a velvet interior.  
Richie barely spoke to anyone at the funeral. He gave Myra his condolences, but other than that he didn't speak. Not to Bev, not to Bill or Ben. And certainly not to Mike.

When he got back home, he canceled the rest of his shows. It upset his agents, but he didn't care. Richie needed time. He had to grieve. He had to drink.  
Richie took some shots of vodka, then had a few glasses of bourbon, then followed by more vodka. In his drunken sadness, Richie started unlocking memories he'd buried deep down a very long time ago.

** "Why're you crying?" Eddie had asked him, sneaking up from behind. Richie's automatic asshole facade had kicked itself into gear, "I'm not, fuckhead." he stated defensively, sniffling and quickly rubbing his eyes. Eddie looked confusedly at him, "Richie, what's wrong?" he asked with genuine concern. It made Richie feel guilty. He felt sick to his stomach, he couldn't speak. He broke down, sobbed into Eddie's broken arm. The other boy was confused and concerned but decided to let Richie cry. He must've been really upset because Eddie had never seen Richie cry. In fact, he'd never seen Richie show hardly any type of emotion. After a few minutes of Richie crying, Eddie decided to ask him again, "Rich, what's wrong? You can tell me."**   
** Richie, beginning to calm down, looked up to Eddie, "I can't, Eds. I can't." he said with his voice breaking. Eddie scoffed, "Of course you can! You're my best friend, Richie, you can trust me." his voice was soft, calming. Richie gave a small nod and sniffled again, "Henry Bowers... Called me a faggot." he explained.**   
** Eddie looked disgusted. Richie knew that his expression was towards what Henry had said, not towards the possibility of Richie actually being gay, but his mind still went there.**   
** He felt bile rising up in his throat, the dread filled up his stomach once more.**   
** "Fuck him." Eddie finally spoke. Richie was taken aback, he had heard Eddie swear before, but that was just jokes, this sounded angry, genuine hatred filled his words.**   
** "What?" Richie softly asked.**   
** "Fuck. Him." Eds said again, enunciating his words harshly.**   
** Richie gave a small laugh, "Damn, Eds, don't go crazy." he joked. Eddie got serious, "No, I mean for real, how many times has Bowers fucked with you? With all of us? A lot. Why does it matter to you now? Fuck him, man, don't let him get to you. So, he called you a fag, so what? I mean, you're not, are you?" Richie felt his heart stop, did Eddie care? Would he be mad?**   
** "Would you hate me if I was?" Richie found the words spilling from his mouth. Eddie's expression quickly shifted, "Holy shit! Are you?" he frantically asked, "No!" Richie defensively yelled, "But you wouldn't care, would you?"**   
** Eddie shook his head, "No, I wouldn't. But you're not, right?" he seemed worried in his tone. Richie replied with a hard "No." Eddie sighed, seemed like out of relief to Richie but he wasn't sure, and continued on, "Well, if you're not a fag, then it doesn't matter if Bowers called you one, right?" Eddie was trying to comfort Richie, and he knew that, but Richie couldn't help but feel guilty. Like he was lying. He so desperately wanted to tell Eddie his secret, but he couldn't. He couldn't tell anyone. "Right." **

Fuck, he was crying. The memories from his boyhood were painful. Richie laid out on his bed, his mind was buzzing, he wasn't even sure he was thinking. Suddenly he heard a voice, "Beep beep, asshole." Eddie playfully said. Richie froze and looked over his shoulder to see Eddie standing before him. Fuck. For just a split second, he thought it was that _ fucking clown _ just playing a trick on him, trying to fuck with his head. But no, that _ thing _ was dead. No questioning it. But Richie couldn't stop the intense fear that inhabited his body. "Eds?" he asked, his voice was shaking. "Last I checked, yeah." Eddie responded, inching closer towards Rich's bed, "No! Stay away!" Richie called out, yanking himself further up the mattress. "Calm down, buddy. I just wanna talk to you." Eddie stated, coming closer and closer.  
"No! No!" Richie curled up into a ball, squeezing his eyes shut, "You died, I saw it!" he yelled. God, was he going insane? "Why did you lie to me, Richie?" asked Eddie. Richie felt weight ease onto the bed, but he couldn't see with his eyes shut. "I never did!" he defended himself. "You told me you weren't a fag, you lied." Eddie sounded angry, his voice was almost demonic, "You're a faggot, Richie." he echoed.  
Richie couldn't breathe, he felt pressure on his chest, his heart was either completely stopped or going too fast for him to comprehend. "You're not real! You're not real!" he yelled again.  
The voice wouldn't stop, it wasn't Eddie's anymore though, it was his father's, then Henry Bowers', and then that _ fucking clown's. _  
Richie stayed curled up and shaking for god knows how long, pleading with himself, with God, to make the voices _ stop. _ "Go away!" he wailed to thin air, he was dizzy. Richie thought for sure he was dying at that moment. That his last words would be him yelling at ghosts. But, slowly, the voices faded out. Richie's breathing slowed. His heart either started up again or slowed down, he didn't know which.  
He uncurled himself and forced his eyes opened. And suddenly, he was alone. All alone.

As he'd always be. No matter what was to happen, no matter how many women he forced himself to fuck so he'd feel 'normal', no matter how many fans he had that adored him, he was alone. All Alone.

**Author's Note:**

> aaah, bill hader's performance was outstanding as richie!! i knew he was a god at acting, but oh wow, he was great! he showed so much emotion that i was almost crying in the theatre. what a man.


End file.
